Early Saturday morning, I drove to my mom’s house. The night before I woke with insomnia worried she may have died, which prompted me to get on my knees in prayer. I contended with Jesus to grant me more time. “I’m not ready,” I pled.
Just over a year ago, she was diagnosed with multiple myeloma – bone cancer. Her oncologist said she could live for another three to five years if she had cancer treatment every week. This news came four years after my dad passed from recurrent esophageal cancer. I promised him I would take care of my mom and fervently prayed for her to have quality of life since then. Now it seems, her quality of life is coming on the other side, not here.
My mom didn't believe her time on this earth was almost up. When I cried to her days before, “I’m going to miss you so much. And the worst part for me right now is there’s going to come a time soon when I won’t even be able to call you anymore,” she assured me, “I still have eight to nine months left.” Knowing she couldn’t process her own death I said, “That’s good, mom. That means you’ll make it to Christmas.” “Yep,” she replied.
Driving to her house that Saturday morning, I came prepared with a packed bag. Either through instinct or fear, I believed my mom might die soon and I wasn’t leaving her side until she did.
After a Face Time call between my mom and her grandchildren, we lay in bed together watching the first three Shrek movies followed by Maleficent. Her comments about the movies grew fewer apart and less coherent until she fell asleep. That was the last day my mom was able to carry on a conversation.
Trying to sleep in bed with my mom proved difficult because of her dogs’ chewing, scratching, and whining. Reluctantly, I relocated to the couch, which didn’t provide much rest at all. Worrying my mom might pass alone led to unsettling pacing up and down the hallway. Standing in her doorway, I watched her chest rise and fall before returning to the couch, only to repeat those same steps over and over all night long.
Finally, dropping to my knees in front of the sitting chair in the living room I begged Jesus, “Please don’t let her pass alone. Please, let me be there when she takes her last breath.” The thought of her passing alone or being in pain and suffering by herself consumed me to the point of anxious torment. Over and over, I keep pleading, “No pain, no suffering; no pain, no suffering.”
That dark and lonely night, coupled with immense fear and hallway pacing, opened a door for the enemy to wreak havoc on my emotional state and steal my peace.
Late that Sunday morning, some family came over to visit my mom. To my surprise, she awakened to their greetings and wasn’t in any pain. Sitting up, my mom engaged with everyone using eye and body language, but she couldn’t converse.
Trying, she only made mumbling noises.
Looking over at my mom, she appeared present with us even though she couldn't talk. Feeling a prompting to sit next to her, I looked my mom in the eyes while telling her what an amazing mom she is. “I’m so lucky to have you as my mom. I always felt I have the best mom in the world.” The display of complete love and adoration in her eyes demonstrated this fact: she knew how much I loved her, and I knew how much she loved me.
By mid-afternoon, my mom was asleep again and snoring.
That evening, stress took hold of me. Worrying about my mom being in pain or dying without me being in the room was engrossing. With only a couple of hours of sleep the night before and lack of food, on top of grief and impending loss, I was a wreck.
Again, kneeling on the floor in the living room I began praying. Crying out, I implored Jesus not to let my mom suffer, be in pain, or die alone when I wasn’t in the room. “Please, please, let me be at her side so she’s not alone.” Suddenly I heard, “You have nothing to worry about.”
Biblically, I knew I had nothing to worry about. In Matthew 7:25-30, Jesus tells us not to worry about our lives as He narrates how much more important we are than the birds of the air or the flowers of the field, which our Father in heaven clothes and feeds just the same. Yet, He says, “If that is how God clothes the grass of the field…will he not much more clothe you – you of little faith?”
Contemplating this truth, I began evaluating my level of faith.
Jesus knows how important it is for me to be there when my mom passes. He knows my heart and knows that losing her is one of my greatest fears and has been since childhood. Jesus knows I’m not ready to lose my mom. Then I heard, “You’ll have all the time you need.”
I had a choice to make. I could believe in God and trust in His faithfulness or continue to doubt by allowing my circumstances to be greater than Him.
Consciously, I placed my fears at His feet and took up my shield of faith.
It was not an easy decision to make. Relinquishing control over my worry and fear was scary. But I realized, my shield of faith is not my belief system or worldview, it’s wholehearted trust in my God.
Acting against my fear and anxiety, I laid down on the couch and fell asleep.
Astoundingly, I didn’t wake until 7:30 am Monday morning!
Feeling rested and at peace, I had the urge to go check on my mom and make sure her chest was still rising and falling.
Somehow, I knew it was.
The hospice nurse came around noon to examine my mom. She wasn’t responsive anymore. She just lied in bed breathing and snoring. “She’s very close and could pass at any time,” the nurse said.
Also, she informed me my mom wasn’t snoring – the gurgling or rattling sound was caused by secretions in her lungs or airway.
Family members came over again, but my mom remained sleeping all day. I continued to administer her liquid pain medication in the side of her mouth to ensure she wasn’t in any pain or suffering.
Around 10 pm, I lied down in the bed next to her. I set the alarm on my phone for 1 am - the next dosing time for her medication. I was so tired and emotionally exhausted I didn’t mind her dogs, nor do I remember closing my eyes, only waking up to the sound of my alarm going off.
The dim glow of the TV screen illuminated the room. I turned over to check on my mom and was confronted with a sight I could never have imagined. The person lying next to me in the bed looked nothing like my mom.
Quickly, I got up to turn on the lights. My mom's appearance looked like someone who had already been dead for a couple of days, but her chest was still rising and falling with breath. I can't adequately describe what a horrifying sight it was to see my mom in a body I didn’t recognize. I kept thinking to myself, “She shouldn’t be here. She should have passed on already. Why is she still here?”
I pulled up the chair next to my mom’s bed and began to talk to her. “Let go, mom. Jesus is waiting for you.” I continued, “We’re all going to be okay; you can leave now.” I was begging her to let go – pleading with her. I could barely handle seeing her in that condition.
Passionately, I wanted her to go be with Jesus and my dad. “Dad’s waiting for you,” I told her.
Then, I had a strong urge to read her Song of Songs out loud. After reading the entire book I said, “Mom, don’t keep your lover waiting.” At that moment, she gently nodded her head yes.
I almost lost my breath!
Stunned, I sat there watching her breathe for what seemed like 20-30 minutes. I was sure she was going to take her last breath at any moment, but she didn’t.
Next, I played Christian music from the app on my cell phone. Maybe if she hears worship music, I thought, it will help her decide to let go and embrace our Savior.
Song after song, I stood over my mom with hands lifted high singing and praising Jesus. After about an hour of ushering the presence of God over my mom, I heard the word, “surrender.” Is my mom having a hard time surrendering to the Lord and the death process?
I turned off the music, put my hand on my mom’s head, and began praying out loud over her. I prayed for my mom to let go and surrender - to release her spirit to our Father just like Jesus did on the cross.
Determined and dedicated, I fought to help my mom pass on. As her spirit lay in an unrecognizable body of decay, I wanted nothing more than my mom to be set free. Jesus was right. I had all the time I needed.
Morning came and some family members showed up at the house. As some of us laid in bed with my mom while others stood surrounding her, my mom’s breathing finally slowed down. Her chest filled and emptied of air further and further apart.
Then, she took her last breath.
Even though everyone was crying, I was relieved and thankful she finally let go.
The journey since my mom’s passing in the fall of 2020 has been full of ups and downs. Some days I’m okay, others I’m not. The grief comes in waves.
I’ve learned there’s a difference between grieving and a spirit of grief.
While holding my mom in my arms upon her passing, the intense grief she harbored after losing my dad took up residency with me – a manifestation of severe memory loss, disconnection from daily life, and an almost zombie-like demeanor that was diagnosed as dementia.
Upon receiving revelation that she didn’t have dementia after all, as it was impossible for me to “catch” her dementia after her death, I rejected the spirit of grief. I refused to agree with it. No theatrical show was required, just an uncompromising resolve forced it to flee.
Now, when depression tries to establish roots, I remind myself Who she’s with, living the quality of life I fiercely prayed for her.
The one constant that remains is God’s goodness. Even amid our tremendous losses and immense suffering, the Lord is always faithful. “In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world” (John 16:33 NIV).
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